His to Take (Wicked Lovers 9)

Jesus, listen to him. He had to pick up his whiny ass and move on. He’d find another job, another case, another shithole, maybe even more friends.

But not another Bailey.

The thought hit him right between the eyes.

“Hello?” Sean asked. “Can you hear me?”

“Yeah.” Joaquin tuned back into the conversation. “Sorry. My cell skipped out for a minute. Can you repeat that?”

“Sure. Be careful. If we come across anything else, we’ll keep you posted.”

“Thanks, man.”

“And you let us know how you’re doing. Callie is worrying herself into a frenzy.”

And wouldn’t that touch Bailey’s heart?

Joaquin felt his throat close up. “Thanks.”

As they rang off, Joaquin thanked his lucky stars he’d bought his vehicle with a GPS program. He punched the address into the system and out spit directions. Only twelve hours and some change to go . . .

* * *

HOUR after hour rolled by in the car. Bailey stared out the window at the slowly changing scenery. The flat land seemed to simply stay flat. The foliage changed. The air turned colder. Spring may have mostly sprung in Texas, but up north, they hadn’t quite gotten the memo.

After Little Rock, hints of civilization became fewer and farther between. The northeast corner of Arkansas still had snow. Missouri still looked miserably wintery, considering it was April. She still hadn’t asked where exactly Joaquin was taking her.

In truth, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

With every mile that passed, her stomach knotted tighter. Every cell in her body clenched with dread. What if seeing her childhood home sparked memories? What if it didn’t? Or what if she remembered the bloodbath McKeevy had unleashed on her family? Bailey could only believe that she had escaped because her father had sent her outside to hide and LOSS hadn’t paid that much attention to the number of children Aslanov had sired.

“You’re too quiet,” Joaquin said finally.

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t feed me that line of shit. You’re worried.”

“I am,” she admitted. “What does that change?”

He sighed as they crossed into Illinois. “Are you hungry at least?”

“Are you going to feed me more fast food?” The idea made her stomach revolt.

“Probably. I’m trying to reach our destination before nightfall. No sense searching the property in the dark.”

“We won’t have much time before sunlight runs out anyway. You must be tired. You’ve been driving all day. And you can’t have gotten much sleep last night.”

“I don’t regret that for a second. What about you?”

Heat rose up her cheeks. “I enjoyed it. I certainly understand the fuss about sex now.”

Bailey would have thought that most men would preen when a girl praised their prowess. He frowned. “So I was good in bed but it didn’t mean anything?”

“No, I . . .” Why did this man fluster her so easily? “I’m running for my life. And you won’t stay around. Your sister made that really clear last night. So why does it matter?”

He just grunted. “We’ll table this discussion until we figure everything else out, but I’m not done.”

Great.

They stopped and had a sort of healthier lunch. Sub sandwiches with processed meat wasn’t her definition of power food, but she loaded hers up with veggies and did the best she could. If she miraculously got to audition next week, she didn’t want to be hugely out of shape. After that, they continued in relative silence, and she fiddled with the radio as each station played tunes then became static as the miles rolled on.

Late afternoon had almost spilled into evening when Joaquin turned the SUV down a dirt road. Her stomach clenched tight, and she wondered if she’d lose her lunch. Somehow, she knew the trek down this road wouldn’t be more than a mile or so. It seemed to take forever, yet it wasn’t long enough.

It didn’t take long before he slowed. The GPS indicated their destination was on the left. Bailey pressed her hands to her stomach, looking at the seemingly innocuous, if neglected, farmhouse that had become a house of horrors in her nightmares.

The structure was still painted a white, though time and weather had peeled it in spots. The swing set she saw on one side of the house in her dreams had rusted out and looked like something ready for a Dumpster. The remnants of her brother’s fort between the two trees tilted and gaped. If she hadn’t known it had once stood there, she would have never guessed from its appearance now. A curtain sagged from the front window, which Bailey knew was in the kitchen. In fact, the drape was a print of little teacups and saucers. The roof had seen better days.

The whole place looked haunted.

“You’re pale. Does anything look familiar?”

Sadness assailed her. Rage followed. LOSS had taken everything from her. Now that she sat here looking at the home, she remembered laughter. Her father had liked to tickle her in the mornings. Her mother had been teaching her and her sister to dance in the living room.

One organization’s need to wedge the world into the order they sought had wiped out all she held dear in the blink of an eye.

“Everything.” Her voice shook.

Joaquin bolted out of the car and ran around to open her door. “If you’re too tired to do this today, we can come back tomorrow.”

She shook her head. If she had to leave and live with a night of dread, knowing she’d return to this tragic spot . . . “We’re here. Let’s get this over with.”

He looked as if he wanted to say something but refrained. Instead, he held out his hand and helped her to her feet. “You ready?”

No. “Why not?”

“Three days ago, you had no idea you’d been born Tatiana Aslanov. If memories are coming back, too, everything must be overwhelming.”

She supposed that was logical, but the fact that he’d considered her feelings at all touched her. Far cry from the man who had awakened her while she’d been chained to a stranger’s bed at Dominion.

“Yeah.”

He tucked her hand in his. “I’ll be beside you.”

“Isn’t anyone else living here?”

Joaquin grimaced, his hazel eyes reluctant. “No. Sean did some digging and found out it’s been vacant all this time. Your father left the house and everything in it to your mother’s sister, who still lives in Russia. Apparently, she’s refused to sell it, hoping that someday you’d be found and might want it.”

The fact that some relative she’d never met cared about her from halfway around the world touched her, but Bailey knew she could never spend another night in this place. “So you’re saying she left a key somewhere?”

“The feds did. Sean told me how to access it.”

He led her to the side of the house. On the back door, the one she’d darted out of in her dreams over and over again, a lockbox hung from the knob. With sure fingers, Joaquin punched in the code and the little tray opened, producing a key.

Joaquin took it between his fingers. “You want to do this?”

“No. Walking into the house is going to be hard enough. You go first, please.”

God knew what it would look like. Had anyone scrubbed the walls or replaced the carpet after the murders? If the evidence still existed, would she be able to deal? Damn, she found it hard to breathe.

“Follow me. If you need to stop or take a break or talk about it—”

“I appreciate that. Can we just get it over with?”

Because if she waited too long, she would probably throw up.

He nodded, looking tense. No, worried. “However you want. I got you.”

Funny how he liked to take away her control in bed and he assumed total responsibility when her safety was on the line, but with something this traumatic and emotional . . . he simply stayed by her side, so supportive. So compassionate.

“Thanks

. I know this case has already cost you a lot, and you’ve done so much to keep me alive. Your sense of justice is amazing. What you’ve sacrificed to help me and try to save women you never knew is nothing short of incredible.”

Joaquin waved her off and shifted his gaze around the side of the house. Finally, he stuck the key in the side door, but it didn’t turn. “This must unlock the front.”

“I guess.” She shrugged.

Tugging gently on her hand, he led her to the front of the house. The lock gave him no resistance, and as Joaquin turned the old handle, the door squeaked open. Cold air from inside rushed her face, assaulting her. A shiver originated deep under her skin, all the way from the core of her being.

He pushed the door wider and stepped inside. As Bailey approached, stale air hit her nostrils, nearly making her knees buckle.

“I wonder how long it’s been since anyone has stepped foot in here.” He recoiled from the odor.

She wrinkled her nose and peered inside. “Smells like a long time.”

The little living room still looked so much like the memories that suddenly rushed back to her. Chocolate-brown carpet that had seen better days still covered the floor. A plaid sofa in tones of blue that didn’t match at all hunched against the wall. A small end table covered with a lacy scrap still sat beside it. A scarred coffee table the color of honey rested in front, still marred with the grooves from her brother’s toy trucks. Everything looked caked with inches of dust.

Bailey wrapped her arms around her waist. The temperature wasn’t the only thing cold in here. The vibe of the place iced through her veins. The terror that had permeated the house that day still lingered and plagued.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her fraying nerves. She’d never thought of herself as terribly brave, so being here tested her. Everything inside her wanted to flee. She couldn’t and she knew it.

“You all right?” he asked, pulling her closer.

Thank goodness Joaquin stood by her side. No way she would have made it without him. He might not be the man who stayed forever, but she’d be grateful to him for standing beside her now.

“I-I’m trying.”

“Ready to walk through the house? I’ll leave the door open.”

That might help with what she otherwise knew would be one of the most difficult things she’d ever endured in her life. She gave him a shaky nod.

A few more steps through the living room had them at the opening of the dining room. The pale fabric on the chairs still showed signs of stains from the children who had once eaten here. Her gaze lingered on the seat beside her mother’s. It had been her own. The faint pinkish stain on the corner had once been red from a fruit punch spill. Her father had always plunked himself at the head of the table and quizzed her older siblings about homework.

Each memory seemed crystal clear now. How had she forgotten so much of her past for a moment, much less for years? Even more came rushing back. Her mother had often wrapped up her long hair and danced through the house when she’d thought her “baby” was napping. Bailey used to sneak out of her bed and watch. Her siblings had often liked to play hide-and-seek indoors, especially when it snowed. If their father was watching TV or studying his research notes, he’d sometimes lose his temper and bluster. But spats would always end in hugs, tickles, and giggles.

As Joaquin eased her from the dining room into the kitchen, she stopped. Faded linoleum countertops in a graying white sat on top of oak cabinets with old-fashioned scalloped trim. Some of the doors hung off the hinges now. Idly, she supposed that all the food had been cleared out or the stench would be unbearable. The white refrigerator still stood in the corner, no longer humming. The stove had been ancient fifteen years ago, and now looked like a relic.

Her memories of her mother were strongest here. She hadn’t been much of a cook, according to her father, but he’d always appreciated her effort. Mama would toil for hours, trying to cook a special stew or soup, especially when winters turned cold. Daddy had often smiled at her effort, but looked as if he were choking on the result.

Bailey felt her lips lift in a little grin. So many good memories here. So many forgotten ones, like her brother’s last birthday party and the cake that had somehow plopped onto the kitchen floor before anyone had taken a bite. Her last summer here, an old dog had wandered into their yard one day, sans identification tags. Her bother had named him X-Man. The big German shepherd mix hadn’t lasted long before age took him, but Bailey remembered loving the big, protective canine and crying the day he died.

“You all right?” Joaquin asked softly beside her.

Tears welled, but she nodded. “So much is coming back to me. I don’t know . . . This whole time in my life was blank. Now that I’m standing here, I remember everything.”

He stroked a tender hand down her hair. “I’ll stay with you. If anything scares you, just grab on to me. If you remember something about the case . . .”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Or if you want to talk about anything, I’m here.”

Joaquin guided her out of the kitchen, through the little family room that overlooked the backyard. She recalled running out there in the sprinklers. Of course, everything was dormant now at the end of a long winter, the overgrown brown weeds nearly obscuring the back fence.

On the other side of the room, she caught sight of the part of the house she’d most dreaded—the hallway that led back to the bedrooms. As she stared into the opening, a lump of terror gathered in her belly. Whatever she didn’t want to remember had happened on this side of the house.

“You ready?”

They were losing the light, so she had to be. Slowly, she nodded, feeling that lid to Pandora’s box creaking open in her head.

He stepped through the opening into the hall first. The moment his athletic shoes hit the worn parquet floor, she pictured another man standing on that same surface. She closed her eyes and followed the memory. Her father had picked her up that afternoon and cuddled her, sung his version of the nursery rhyme with her, then made her promise never to forget it. Finally, he’d sent her outside through the back door at the end of this hall.

Bailey didn’t want to open her eyes and look down that long strip of house that led to the portal, but there was nowhere else to look. Dark, musty, seemingly innocuous. But the moment she lifted her lids, a vision from the past assailed her. The walls splashed with red. The wooden floors slick with the warm, oozing liquid. Blood everywhere. She’d seen it after her father had been dragged away, after she’d come in from her brother’s fort. Had the stranger simply come in and shot everyone?

She frowned. The memory seemed so close, but she couldn’t access it. Something stood in her way . . .

“Do you need to pause here for a minute or do you want to move on?”

Bailey wanted to leave the house altogether, but that wasn’t an option. She’d have no future if she didn’t confront the past. “Let’s move on.”

The first bedroom on her right was her brother’s. Tiptoeing to the opening, she found herself staring at the faded blue walls. A Star Wars poster had been ripped nearly in half, even as the edges clung to the wall. His bunk beds had been stripped of bedding. But she couldn’t miss the huge red stain marring the mattress on the bottom bunk. And she couldn’t escape the memory of her brother in his bed, lifeless, bleeding from a bullet to the head. He’d turned nine a few weeks earlier.

Bailey felt her body buckle. She pressed a hand to her chest. “Mikhail, my brother, was murdered in his room.”

Who would do that to a child? Why?

She couldn’t look anymore and jerked from the doorway. Joaquin was there to support her, wrapping his arms around her body, easing her head to his chest. He crooned nonsensical words. She didn’t care that she couldn’t understand what he said because his touch made it clear that he would stand with her no matter what. It didn’t feel like he just wanted answers or to solve a case. Bailey wou

ld have sworn that he genuinely cared.

Flinging her arms around him, she sobbed quietly into his chest. He edged them away from the opening of the bedroom and leaned against the far wall, removing her another precious few